


you're a dead fit

by overthetiber



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Macramé, Post-Sburb, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overthetiber/pseuds/overthetiber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Girls and fun, and also feelings and problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're a dead fit

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [but my wit won't allow it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/234943).
> 
> Do I have an excuse? Oh well, whatever.

Jade flops onto the ice-covered bench with an exaggerated sigh. As Rose approaches, she props herself up on her side and assumes a cheesecakey pout-smirk. Moisture fogs her glasses, but she can tell Rose is smirking in answer.

"And who have we here?" says Rose.

"Valentina Tereshkova." Jade uncrosses and recrosses her legs. Her tights (tie-dyed, in colorful bursts that resemble fireworks or dahlias) squeak when they brush against each other. "But that's Dowager Empress to you."

Rose's eyebrow quirks. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty."

Jade almost falls off the bench trying to extend her hand for kissing purposes. Rose stands by graciously till she regains her composure.

Her grip is gentle, her lips surprisingly warm. She steps back afterward, a more little awkwardly than Jade expected, and doesn’t meet her eyes.

"Anyway," Jade says. "It's cold!"

"I told you to bring a hat." Rose looks pointedly at Jade's head, which is bare and just slightly fuzzy. Almost all of Rose's looks are pointed. She must sharpen them every night, or maybe only on the nights Jade is out, because Jade would remember that. Seeing Rose sharpen her looks, that is.

"I don't know it would be so cooooold. And we've been climbing steps for hours...”

"This has not been hours," says Rose. "This has barely been twenty minutes. Man up, Harley."

"Bluh bluh." Jade rolls to her feet. "How much longer?" The hilltop seems so far away.

"Not much longer."

"Fine," Jade grumbles, and they've reached the top of the next endless flight before she realizes why this is funny.

"Care to expound on what's amused you, or shall I mark another entry in the log of bemusing reactions seemingly unprompted by external stimuli?"

"No, it's just that it's _you_ leading me around with cryptic instructions and vague reassurances, and usually I'm the one who does that!"

Rose doesn't laugh, but her smile is pleased. When she's not looking, Jade fist-pumps in secret triumph.

-

"Wow. Um. Wowwwwww.”

“Indeed.” Rose flexes her fingers, curls them around the railing. Below lies the city, its buildings sketch-thin and faded, its treetops covered by mist. As the sun rises, details reveal themselves: a thousand shades of gray on gray, scattered with green and brown.

They stay till their noses turn red, till reflected light dazzles their eyes. Snow-brightness leaves Jade’s cheeks damp with longing. Or, well, tears.

They descend in silence, each girl busy with her own thoughts. At the bottom, Jade shakes off her daze a little; remembers something; turns to Rose.

“Hey Rose.”

“Mm?”

“Next time, make sure to warn me about the stairs.”

The mock- _thwack_ that follows is thoroughly deserved.

-

Studying biochemical engineering is really cool, but so is living with Rose. Jade's pretty sure that, were she asked to choose between the two, her internal jury would be deadlocked for hours. In the end, it might even declare a mistrial! Or possibly a hilarious play on the word "mistrial," alluding to some form of violence and coincidentally also referring to a legal custom from another universe? Whichever.

Anyway, yeah, the two of them get along super well! To be honest, Jade wasn't sure that they would. When they were younger, Rose kind of frightened her. Or intimidated her, maybe. Definitely baffled her, occasionally stumped her. She probably did the same thing to Rose.

Jade's lived around other people long enough, now, to realize that she's maybe not normal, exactly? Like, she finds friends easily, but it's hard to make them stick around. She tires them out, or she scares them, or she does something that offends them. Occasionally, they try to kiss her. _That's_ always an awkward conversation. Jade isn't even sure she likes humans that way! …No, okay, Jade likes humans that way. However, she lacks both the time and the energy for such distractions (is how Rose would say it).

Doesn't mean she wants to be alone, though. Luckily, she isn’t. August through October weeded out the fair-weather friends, and there are still plenty left to entertain her. But, if her friends all disappeared tomorrow— Okay, Jade’s never said it. Unless Rose starts acting way different, she never will say it. But as long as she had Rose, she’d be all right.

-

After the park, they stop by a craft store. Rose has gotten into macramé recently. Jade insisted on buying bunkbeds; Rose took the bottom. Many tiny knotted lanterns dangle from the slats above her bunk. There are threats of a chandelier for the kitchen.

“My hands crave industry,” explains Rose. “A physical exercise beyond the repetitive press of finger to keyboard. In medieval Norway, any woman who did not knit constantly was considered slothful, and suffered general censure.”

“You don’t have to justify it to me,” Jade says. She turns some macramé thread over, holds it to the light. It is black nylon cord, rather heavy, with an iridescent purple strand twisted throughout. It is $7.99.

Rose examines a variety pack of rainbow-pastel cord, of amateur manufacture. The label reads “Piña Cordlada” in hot pink Curlz MT. Jade watches the set of Rose’s mouth, the stiffness of her neck.

“I mean,” she says, because she doesn’t want Rose to feel _hurt_ , “I love the stuff you make! You’re a great macramé-er.”

The look Rose shoots her is at best opaque, but at least her shoulders relax.

They don’t stay long. It turns out that, despite Grandpa Harley’s precautions, Jade _wasn’t_ technically a U.S. citizen; the naturalization process involves hunting down many documents. Today she is going to the courthouse for the fifth time. Rose found a seasonal job as an elf (a revelation that has left John incapacitated by laughter for the past week), and must attend training sessions.

After that, there’s classes, and cleaning the house, and volunteering at the animal shelter—Jade is limiting herself to one hour, because she doesn’t have much free time, but it’s _so hard_ —and they’re meeting up again for dinner with friends. Rose doesn't talk a lot, or at all if they're excluding cutting remarks, but she usually seems happier afterwards.

-

Rose doesn’t show up for dinner. Jade returns to an apparently empty house.

“Rose?” she calls. “Hey, um, I brought you some leftovers?”

There is no answer from the kitchen. No one's in the bedroom, either. In the bathroom, Jade finds macramé lanterns obstructing the sink drain, the toilet, the trash can. She takes a closer look in the trash, and recoils at a sudden, harsh alcohol scent.

She makes another discovery in the kitchen sink. Torn-up paper, bearing the unmistakable curves of Rose's handwriting, has been wetted and stuffed down the garbage disposal. Brittle, burnt brown sludge, possibly an attempt at scrambled eggs, clogs both burners of the two-burner stove. A dirty glass, a plate, two forks. Eggshells crunch under Jade's feet.

Rose's shoes are missing from the entryway.

Jade clenches her jaw. She gets to work. When the kitchen is clean, she makes an instant hot chocolate and sits down at the table with some problem sets.

There are no self-help books for dealing with the trauma of being possessed by the eldritch powers that dwell beyond the Furthest Ring. Jade has checked. There are, however, self-help books for dealing with loss, especially that of a parent. And those for dealing with alcoholism.

Yes, Jade needs to do something about this. Tonight.

-

Rose gets back around midnight, just when the problem sets are starting to fade into each other and also resemble ancient Mayan codices. She opens the door quietly, so the turning of key in lock couldn’t drown out a whisper, but she sways like poplar leaves in a storm.

Jade slams her hand down on the table. Rose jumps, and trips onto one knee.

“Late night?” she asks, staggering upright.

Jade isn’t sure what to say, or how to say it. It comes out cold and choked and shaky. “Where were you.”

“A-are you keeping tabs on me now?”

“You were _drinking_.”

“A minor crime,” she says grandly. “In the scheme of things, I think—”

“Rose.”

“I’m going to bed now.”

“ _No you are not going to bed now_ ,” Jade nearly shouts. All of a sudden, she can’t stop. She goes on and on, _I was so worried_ , and Rose never comes out with them anymore, does she even have other friends? and she may think it's clever to dump her empty whiskey bottles in the neighbor’s recycling, but Mr. Gujjral is 85 years old and a devout Sikh! Even if he chose to imbibe, he wouldn’t go through two fifths of Rebel Yell a week.

“Dammit Rose, I’m not supposed to be the therapist here!”

Rose is hunched, cringing, but she stands there through it all. She just takes it. The woundedness of her enrages Jade more, somehow.

Before she says something really unforgivable, like _At least your guardian was actually alive!_ or _How did you get all these issues, I lived_ alone _for years and I turned out fine_ , Rose collapses into tears.

Though Jade’s spent nearly all her charity, she lacks the temerity to yell at a crying girl. So she shuts her mouth. She crosses her arms. She waits till the last sobs die away.

Rose takes the chair across from her, and begins to speak.


End file.
